Last night, my husband and I had a night out on the town without kids and I had an epiphany; I am not a fan of date night.

Hold back your horror. I’ll explain. I absolutely love spending time with my husband. He’s smart, funny, and wicked sexy. It’s all of the other trappings of date night that I don’t enjoy.

First, there’s getting ready. I gave myself a pedicure, because my hooves were looking rough and I didn’t want to expose them to the world without at least sandblasting the callouses.

Then, I spent a good 10 minutes debating the merits of showering and shaving my legs. I had taken a power yoga class that afternoon and I think I last shaved about…. well, see that’s my dilemma. I have no clue when I shaved last. I also spent additional time sniffing my shirt to see if I could get away with wearing it for a few more hours.

This is the kind of date night I can get behind.

In the end, I didn’t shower or shave, but I did change shirts, apply a fresh layer of makeup and engulfed myself in a cloud of perfume. I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself. And I am almost 100 percent certain I didn’t stink. Okay, maybe 95 percent.

I had secret hopes that my husband would travel from work on one side of the town and then drive me, but, alas, I was forced to drive my own carriage.

You know, my husband is usually pretty chivalrous, but in this instance he failed me. I wanted to gaze upon him adoringly without children asking me for water or goldfish. I also wanted to enjoy a martini or two, and you can’t exactly do that when you are driving.

We ended up at a comedy club and had a blast. The comedian was inappropriate and awesome. And there were mozzarella cheese sticks. The sticks were my favorite part.

And it was all downhill from there.

Afterward, my husband wanted to go out and get crazy. I wanted to go home and pop some corn and watch Orange is the New Black. You can see how this might have caused some conflict.

After a long day of work and kids, I feel like I have been beaten like a circus monkey. Getting me to a comedy club is probably the most you can get out of me. If I could wear my jammies to the club, I might think about extending the night, but since I can’t, well, my couch wins out every time.

My poor husband. All he wants is to feel like a man instead of a kid-toting donkey.

I tried to rally and he offered to drive to the casino on the other end of town. And what did I do? I fell asleep. At 10:30. I suck at dates.

There has to be something in between couch surfing and partying until 2 AM. I don’t know what that is, but until I figure it out, I’ll be in my jammies trying to figure out how to make things up to my husband.

Love this! And why I go to date night and love it? Go weekly. Less pressure! To save money, picnic? In the car! All you need is a view, gourmet burgers and an open heart to open container laws. We’re in and out (this is about dinner, not after, ya pervert!) in 2 hours. Just enough time for a sitter to feed and dress kids for bed, brush their teeth (I hate brushing four sets of teeth- have I said that?!) and clean up the pan from the tater tots and chicken nuggets. The kids are sleepy and cute, we kiss hug and they sleep. And I get to wear something other than mom shoes and the pants with handprints on them. (And forget the shower, it’s nothing a washcloth and deodorant can’t fix!) Thank you for making me flat out chuckle! You rock!

Urrr? Date Night? (MM seeks through memory bank for a match.) HAven’t done that for years. The most romantic we get nowadays is going to the local DIY store to “choose” (read “fight over”) paint colors for the old house that has been gobbling up any available date night budget we have for the last four years. Happily, I’m not a night owl either, so we settle for day-time picnics with our tadpoles, who are now old enough not to get chocolate spread on me or themselves. Thank God for small mercies.

I am very fortunate that my husband and I are of the same mind. We can both usually do dinner (after some coffee), and then we usually both agree that we won’t make it through the movie (or whatever is on the agenda) and go home to watch TV in our PJs. We’re going to be good old people together.